


Anywhere I Lay My Head

by doodledinmypants



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Anal, Carlos Cooks, Cecil is Human, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Oral, Romance, Sexytimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 17:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/929333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodledinmypants/pseuds/doodledinmypants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Now, dear listeners, I don't mean to go on and on about my personal life, but Carlos-- dear, perfect Carlos-- has asked me out on another date tonight! This will be our seventh official date, and I'm not ashamed to tell you that I have high hopes for this evening.”</p>
<p>In which Carlos makes up for the previous night's drunken sobbing by giving Cecil a romantic night in. Sequel to "Crystal Blue Persuasion".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anywhere I Lay My Head

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Instigator for beta-ing this! 
> 
> Title from the Tom Waits song of the same name.

 

When Carlos awoke, head pounding and mouth tasting like he'd licked the wrong end of a floating cat (was there really a _right_ end?), the first thing he noticed was that he was not in his apartment. The second thing he noticed was that the blanket covering him was very warm, and strangely heavy. The third thing he noticed was that his blanket was, in fact, a sleeping Cecil.

 

He blinked down at the top of Cecil's head, where the soft, dishwater-colored hair was thinning. It stuck up in sleep-mussed tufts, and there were freckles on his scalp. He found the sight oddly comforting. Normal. Human. He clung to those little landmarks of normalcy like life preservers in a sea of strangeness. Pink morning light filtered through the blinds over the lab windows, and Carlos squinted accusingly at it. Stupid sunlight.

 

He desperately needed to relieve himself, find some aspirin, and maybe drink a gallon of water, but he currently had a lanky radio host drooling on his chest. Cecil was heavier than he looked. No amount of subtle shifting was going to move his dead weight. Carlos sighed and stroked his fingers through Cecil's downy hair, making it stand up even more crazily. “Hey,” he murmured, wincing as his own voice brought fresh agony down upon his aching head, “Cecil. Ceec. Get up.”

 

Grumbling drowsily, Cecil cracked an eye open and peered up at Carlos. Then, both eyes opened wide, and Cecil nearly fell off the narrow couch as he scrambled off of the scientist. “Oh, my! Carlos! I... oh dear, I didn't file the paperwork for this at all...”

 

“Cecil,” said Carlos, “it's fine. I'm pretty sure nothing happened.” Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately) for him, his hangover did not include any memory loss. He was fully aware that he'd cried drunkenly all over Cecil last night. The memory did not improve his current mood.

 

Cecil relaxed marginally as he took stock of their clothing, which was rumpled, but still in place. “Ah. Well, I'm sure a slightly late sleepover form won't be as frowned upon as...” He blushed and made a vague gesture with one hand that managed to imply a lot more than sleeping. “I'll, uh, just take care of that.”

 

Carlos caught Cecil by the wrist as he turned to leave, sitting up on the couch carefully as he did. “Say, why don't you... get one of those other forms ready for tonight, while you're at it?” he suggested. When Cecil stared at him, he offered a faint smile. “I want to make it up to you. What you did for me, last night, I mean. It was... you didn't have to come over.”

 

Something melted in Cecil's expression, and he leaned over to kiss Carlos on the forehead. “I would do it again, any time.” Then, brightly, “Well, I'd best get going if I want to pick up those forms before work. Station management doesn't tolerate tardiness!”

 

Despite his cheerful tone, Carlos shuddered a little at the mention of station management. He didn't even want to imagine what sort of punishment they inflicted on radio hosts and interns that came in late. “All right. I'll see you tonight, then.”

 

With Cecil gone, Carlos dragged himself up to his apartment above the lab. It was a lot emptier now that his fellow scientists had all either fled Night Vale or fallen prey to one of its many horrors, but he tried not to dwell on that. After taking care of his immediate needs, he forced himself to eat some breakfast and take a shower. He felt a little more human after that.

 

Wearing a freshly laundered white coat, Carlos occupied himself in his lab for the greater part of the day. He did some shopping at the Ralph’s, chatted with Old Woman Josie in passing, and agreed that yes, the angels did make a mean imaginary corn hooch. Maybe a little _too_ mean, he didn't add aloud, but thought. She eyed the contents of his basket speculatively and winked at him. Blushing, he hurried to the checkout lane.

 

He arrived home just in time to hear the radio crackle to life. Cecil's smooth, sonorous tones filled the apartment as Carlos unpacked his groceries. He put the bottle of wine in the fridge to chill and set out the dinner ingredients. Once he'd stowed the last few items in his bedside table, he set to work making his grandmother's best _arroz con pollo_. It was a little dicey, since the chicken he'd purchased seemed to have four extra drumsticks and no wings, but he hoped that it would still taste close enough to the original recipe, even forgoing the flour coating.

 

“ _In other news, the library has been rebuilt, much to the chagrin of the City Council. They had hoped the burning would keep a little longer than three days.”_

 

As dinner simmered, he made his way around the apartment, tidying up and doing his best to set the mood. He put a candle on the table. He'd tried purchasing flowers, but the ones in the grocery store had hummed in a most off-putting way, so he would have to make do without them.

 

“ _The Sheriff's Secret Police would like to remind all citizens that contemplating the night sky is illegal, not to mention an overall bad idea. Remember, when you stare into the void, it stares back. Because, seriously, staring is rude and the void doesn't have to put up with that from you.”_

 

He checked under the bed to make sure the various sigils and pentagrams were intact, refreshed his salt lines, and left a politely worded note on the fridge for the faceless old woman who lived in his apartment. It seemed only fair to give her a heads up that he was planning to have company tonight, and that they'd appreciate some privacy.

 

“ _Now, dear listeners, I don't mean to go on and on about my personal life, but Carlos-- dear, perfect Carlos-- has asked me out on another date tonight! This will be our seventh official date, and I'm not ashamed to tell you that I have high hopes for this evening.”_

 

The suggestive note in Cecil's voice sent a warm curl of anticipation through Carlos. He smiled and stirred the rice in the skillet. The weather came on just as the food finished cooking, so he set it on the back burner and turned off the stove.

 

“ _A final word, listeners, for this evening:_ pulchritudinous _. That's it. That's the word. Good night, Night Vale. Good night.”_

 

That startled a laugh out of Carlos. It was one of those words that sounded like the exact opposite of what it actually meant. Chuckling, he shook his head and set the table, lighting the candle and uncorking the wine. It was a pale Riesling, with a slight sweetness that would pair nicely with the spicy chicken. He finished plating the chicken and rice just as the knock came at the door.

 

Wiping his hands on a kitchen towel, Carlos answered the door. Cecil gazed at him for a moment, clearly distracted by the way Carlos' sleeves were rolled up past his elbows and the apron was still tied around his waist. It was amusing to see the normally loquacious radio host at a loss for words.

 

“You're right on time,” Carlos told him, taking him by the hand and leading him inside. He pulled out Cecil's chair and poured a glass of wine for each of them. Cecil sat down, eyes lighting up with delight as he surveyed the table.

 

“You _cooked_ ,” Cecil said, and it wasn't as though Carlos hadn't cooked for him before, but the pasta incident had been disastrous and they'd agreed to never speak of it again. Three foot long venomous snakes were not a good substitute for spaghetti. “Oh, Carlos, this is lovely. This is... _perfect_.”

 

It was as though he couldn't find a more fitting word to describe Carlos or anything he did. After over a year of hearing it on a near-daily basis, he was sort of getting used to it. “You're perfect,” he returned, dropping a kiss behind Cecil's ear for the sole purpose of seeing him turn that fetching shade of red. “I thought you deserved a nice night in.”

 

Cecil beamed and squirmed happily, then tucked into his dinner. They ate in comfortable silence, aside from the occasional appreciative groan from Cecil. Carlos had to focus his thoughts on non-prurient activities to keep those sounds from affecting him. He had a whole evening planned out, and he didn't want to rush anything.

 

The dinner was, thankfully, completely edible and not too far removed from how he remembered his grandmother's cooking. The chicken tasted like chicken, despite its unusual anatomy. Carlos limited himself to one glass of wine. He didn't need a repeat of last night.

 

Once they were finished, Carlos shooed Cecil out of the dining room so he could clear the table. “Pick a movie,” he said. “I'll be right out.”

 

Cecil had selected a documentary on deep sea creatures. Not exactly Carlos' choice for a date flick, but he wasn't about to argue. They cuddled up on the couch as they watched giant squid, anglerfish, and strange phosphorescent creatures swim through the darkest, deepest parts of the ocean. It was surprisingly romantic, especially with the way Cecil's fingers kept tracing idle patterns around his ankle. Carlos thought Night Vale was a lot like the deep sea: mysterious, often terrifying, with creatures lurking in the darkness ready to devour him. It was also, in its own, strange way, beautiful.

 

During a segment on the tiny, blind shrimp that lived near hydrothermal vents in ocean trenches, Cecil began to play with Carlos' hair. Carlos indulged his fixation, since it felt nice to have fingers dragging across his scalp. He hummed in appreciation and shifted on the couch to allow Cecil better access. His own hands came to rest at Cecil's belt, tugging his shirt free from his waistband so that he could stroke his thumbs along smooth, pale sides.

 

Cecil's breath hitched. Carlos smiled and chased that little sound with his mouth, catching Cecil's lower lip gently between his teeth, then sucking on it. With a much more audible gasp, Cecil hungrily pursued the kiss. They ignored the television in favor of losing themselves in the hot slide of lips and tongues, tasting spices and wine and each other. Cecil's fingers anchored themselves in Carlos' thick curls, and Carlos groaned when he pulled a little too hard, but it was a good sound.

 

Carlos' hands couldn't get enough of Cecil's skin, and he pushed up the shirt to spread his fingers across the softness of Cecil's belly, moving up to thumb playfully over his nipples, stroking through the startlingly soft hair on his chest. He could feel a slight difference in skin texture over Cecil's heart, and he unbuttoned the shirt so he could get a better look. There was a tattoo of an eye in dark purple ink. It looked vaguely Egyptian. Carlos traced it with a fingertip, and Cecil shuddered beneath him.

 

“Carlos,” Cecil moaned, pulling him back down for another searing, devouring kiss. There were more teeth involved this time, and Carlos echoed Cecil's desperate gasps as they scraped over his lip, moved along his jaw and fastened at the pulse point just below the hinge. Cecil sucked a dark bruise to the surface of his skin, and Carlos couldn't stop the noise he made if he tried. He was embarrassingly close to coming in his jeans, like a teenager during his first makeout session instead of a man in his thirties.

 

“Let's take this to the bedroom,” Carlos suggested, breathless. Cecil nodded in swift agreement, the blue of his irises swallowed almost entirely by black now.

 

They somehow made it without tripping over anything, including their own clothing, pieces of which were shed in a trail from the living room to the bedroom. By the time they collapsed on the bed, still kissing, Cecil had one leg out of his trousers and Carlos was down to just his boxers and one sock. Carlos thoughtfully finished divesting Cecil of his clothing before removing his own. He even carefully removed Cecil's glasses and folded them on the bedside table next to his own.

 

He took a moment to appreciate the picture Cecil made, naked and spread out beneath him on the bed, blushing and writhing. After all that footage of squid and cuttlefish, Carlos had been half-expecting tentacles or something (and, this being Night Vale, he wouldn't have been all that surprised), but Cecil was reassuringly human all over. Slightly taller than Carlos, and a little on the slim side, but fairly average in build. His limbs were firm and wiry, but otherwise he didn't have much in the way of muscle definition. Carlos supposed he didn't get a lot of exercise in that sound booth. That was fine, though; Carlos spent so much time hovering over a microscope that it was a miracle he didn't have a permanent stoop to his posture. While his own build was a little more solid, more due to genetics than lifestyle, he had a little tummy squish as well. He had absolutely zero complaints, especially as Cecil squirmed and moaned under his scrutiny and palmed at his own erection.

 

“Carlos,” he whined, his voice completely unlike the one he used on the radio, “please... I want... Oh, Carlos, I _need_ you.”

 

Heat surged through Carlos at those words and he leaned down to plant another lingering kiss on Cecil's whimpering mouth. “Don't worry,” he breathed, mouthing at the delicate skin beneath Cecil's left ear, “I'm going to take such good care of you.”

 

Reaching over Cecil to the nightstand, he removed the condoms and lubricant he'd picked up earlier and set them on the bed within easy reach. “You just tell me if you want me to stop,” he reminded Cecil. “I won't do anything you don't want.”  
  
“I want _everything_ ,” Cecil whispered, and Carlos wasn't sure he deserved such a reverent look. “Anything you want, Carlos, I want it, too.”

 

Carlos swallowed and nodded. Right, then. That seemed like pretty clear and enthusiastic consent. Smoothing his hands down Cecil's sides, he scooted back down the bed until he was braced over Cecil's hips. One of Cecil's hands found its way back to his hair, threading through the curls and holding on for dear life. The scent of Cecil's arousal was strong and heady, and Carlos took a moment to just nuzzle at the crease between his thigh and hip, breathing him in. Then, he licked a fast, wet stripe up the underside of Cecil's cock, and grinned when Cecil wailed. Wrapping his fingers around the base, he worked the head with his tongue and lips, only taking in an inch or two at a time as he pumped the shaft with his hand. The firm flesh felt hot and solid in his mouth, and he imagined how good it would feel all the way inside him. He took in as much as he could, sealed his lips around the shaft, and moaned deep in his throat.

 

Cecil tensed, his fingers clenched painfully in Carlos' hair, and that was all the warning Carlos had before he came with a shout. Carlos had to hold his hips down to keep Cecil from bucking up and gagging him. Carlos swallowed and stroked him gently through his orgasm until he whimpered at the oversensitivity. Wiping saliva and ejaculate from his chin with the back of his hand, he propped himself up on his elbows and admired his handiwork. Cecil was a shaking mess beneath him, still gasping and moaning softly, one arm thrown across his eyes as though he were embarrassed. “Oh,” he groaned. “Carlos, you are far, _far_ too good at that. I'm afraid I didn't last long at all.”

 

“That's all right,” Carlos chuckled, moving to lie beside Cecil and winding an arm around his waist. “You took such good care of me last night, I wanted to return the favor.”

 

“I didn't do anything like _that_ ,” Cecil protested. “It doesn't seem fair. Aren't you still...?”

 

Carlos nudged his own erection against Cecil's hip in reply. “Mmm, yes, but you don't need to do anything if you don't want to. Tonight is about you.”

 

Cecil slid out of his embrace and sat up to straddle the scientist's thighs, shifting Carlos onto his back. “But my dear, perfect Carlos,” he purred, slipping into his Radio Voice, “I told you I wanted _everything_.”

 

Closing his eyes, Carlos felt a full body shiver overtake him. That _voice_. He was fully convinced that he could come to that voice alone. Now did not seem the time to test that theory, however, as Cecil wrapped a hand around his cock and gave it a lazy stroke. Carlos hummed and rocked his hips up into the touch, though with Cecil's weight on his legs he didn't have much leverage. After a few dry pumps, Cecil went for the lube and slicked his hand up before returning his attention to Carlos' cock. The cooler liquid made Carlos gasp at first, but it soon warmed with his body heat and the friction from Cecil's talented hand. He didn't realize Cecil had been prepping himself as well until the radio host was rolling a condom over him.

 

“Are you sure?” Carlos asked, steadying Cecil's hips with his hands as Cecil moved into position. His erection was nestled along the slick cleft of Cecil's ass and he bit his lip as Cecil ground back against him.

 

“I want all of you, Carlos,” Cecil said, and a year ago that statement coming from a Night Vale resident would have made Carlos more than a little nervous. Cecil pushed down around him an inch at a time, his face contorting to an expression of intense concentration, giving way to bliss as he bottomed out at last. “Oh, yes,” he breathed. “Just like that.”

 

Carlos wasn't going to last much longer with Cecil's tight heat squeezing all around him. He braced his feet on the bed and thrust up, Cecil rewarding him with a choked cry of pleasure. Cecil drew himself nearly off of Carlos' cock and shoved back down again in one swift motion, and _oh god how was Cecil even doing that was he some kind of sex demon that wasn't fair_. This time it was Carlos' turn to stifle a scream. They found a rhythm that worked for both of them, Cecil practically bouncing on Carlos' lap as Carlos fucked up into him, fingers leaving bruises on Cecil's hips. Neither of them were capable of words, only sounds of increasingly frantic pleasure as Carlos neared his peak. Cecil was hard again as well, his cock deep red, shiny and wet with precome.

 

With a strangled yell, Carlos arched completely off the bed as he came. Cecil followed shortly after, untouched, sobbing. They fell back on the bed, still joined, too exhausted for anything but trying to find their breath. Carlos pressed a sloppy kiss to the side of Cecil's neck, and Cecil turned his head just enough to return it properly.

 

“We should have done this sooner,” Carlos said, tracing his fingers along the planes of Cecil's face, connecting the dots between the faint freckles he found there. The blue was returning to Cecil's eyes.

 

“Mmm,” said Cecil, a wordless sound of agreement.

 

He pulled away from Carlos gingerly, then got up to fetch a washcloth from the bathroom. With tender care, he cleaned them both up, disposed of the condom, and put the rest of the supplies back in the nightstand drawer. Carlos started to protest that he should be the one to do all that, but Cecil shushed him with a kiss. “Let me.”

 

Once they were clean, Cecil climbed back into bed and pulled the blanket over them both, snuggling up to Carlos' side as though they'd done this hundreds of times. Cecil heaved a great sigh and relaxed into him. They were touching from shoulder to knee, a warm line of contact between them that Carlos didn't want to break for anything. It was an unspoken agreement that Cecil would be staying the night, again. At least this time they'd filled out the proper forms for it.

 

“Pulchritudinous,” sighed Cecil, combing his fingers through the coarser hair on Carlos' chest.

 

“Hmm?” Carlos was already starting to drift toward slumber.

 

“I needed a new word,” he explained. “I worried you might think 'perfect' was overused.”

 

Carlos laughed deep in his throat and wrapped an arm around Cecil, drawing him closer and kissing him. “You can call me anything you want, as long as you call me yours.”

 

Cecil made a happy sound against his mouth as they kissed again. “ _My_ beautiful, perfect Carlos.”

 

“My pulchritudinous Cecil.” It was a word that meant beautiful and appealing, but sounded like something horrifying. And that... seemed to fit perfectly.

 

 

 

 

 

_end_


End file.
